Just a Little Holiday, She Said

"Oh, I'm always ready, but I want to hear the story more."

By now we've dried ourselves by lying in the sun on the hard sand, and we've walked hand-in-hand over to sit under a small clutch of trees. The sea breeze is fully in, and it's lovely. He sits and leans against a tree; I sit to one side of him, leaning back against his chest. I toy with the hair on his leg. He ruffles my hair, then combs it with his fingers, laying it out across his lap.

"As you wish, My Lady.

"So the man walks across the road to the little café where I'm sitting, sits down, crosses his legs, and looks around him. He sees me and nods; I nod back. Just another day at the café, except for one thing, of course.

"The owner comes out and does a tiny double-take, but he's a tough old guy, and won't be intimidated by some clown with no clothes. The man orders breakfast and coffee, which arrives. He chows down like he hasn't eaten in days.

"Afterward, he sits sipping his coffee, looking very satisfied. A while later, he gets up and walks on. I'm a little flabbergasted; I'd never seen the owner give away a meal before. As I say, he's a tough old guy.

"Later, as I'm paying my bill, I look at the owner, raise my eyebrow in a question, and tip my head toward the table where the man had been sitting.

"The owner may be a tough guy, but he's a straight guy too. He gives me an odd look and he says, 'I guess you wouldn't believe me if I said it never occurred to me to charge him.' He pauses. 'Yeah, it's strange. Even stranger than a naked guy walking up, sitting down, and ordering breakfast.'

"I got some work up the coast the next day and was away for several months. When I got back, I heard the guy had stayed in our town. He'd worked odd jobs for a while, but then ended up helping out in our little bakery. Somewhere along the line, somebody found him some clothes to wear, which made everyone else a little more comfortable. I had a notion it was neither here nor there to him.

"A year or two later, I heard he had taken over the bakery from the retiring owner. He married a very nice local girl; they have two little ones now. From everything I can see, they are a very happy couple. In the high season, he sells marquesitas and churros to beach-goers from a little window in the front of his shop."

"Marquesitas," I say. "Interesting." I tickle him under the balls a little to distract him. He pokes me in the ribs.

He goes on, "He's still the same guy, though. One morning, I'm up really early, walking through town. I see him out in front of the bakery, sweeping up, naked as a jaybird. His pretty little wife comes out, goes up on her toes, kisses him on the cheek, and hands him a pair of shorts. What a guy.

"As time went on, I got to know him better. We would sit in the cantina in the evening sometimes. Very nice guy, very quiet, very respectful of the waitresses. One time I started telling him about the stories I was hearing up and down the coast.

"He's always quiet, but this time he sits there very, very quietly looking me straight in the eye. A long, long silence, us staring at each other.

"Finally he says, 'There's places on the coast here where if you took a nice basket of say, bread, cheese, wine, and maybe some oil, to just the right spot, you might see something you didn't expect.'

"I just sat looking at him for a while, mulling this over. I got a pretty strong feeling he wasn't ready to say any more, so I changed the subject.

"Over the next few months, I kept going back over what he'd said. He hadn't laughed, he hadn't deflected. It seemed pretty likely that at least some of what I was hearing had some basis in fact. I mean after all, I did watch him walk in naked from the beach one morning and order breakfast.

"But goddesses? Lions and tigers? Seriously? Still, all the stories seemed somehow vaguely connected, in a way I just couldn't quite make out.

"Then one night as he and I sat very late in the cantina, I asked him where one of those places on the coast might be. He gave me that long, very quiet stare again; he was clearly weighing his opinion of me. He'd known me for some time at that point; I think he trusted me. Well, I guess it's clear he trusted me, because he told me how to find that cliff where I met you."

"And you saw us standing there in the wind."

"You two turned to look at me and I knew immediately the goddess part was true. After a day or two of watching you and your sisters (which honestly is what we all do here, all the time), I understood the part about big cats too.

"But I've only been here a few months, so I haven't figured out the missing men and women."

I smile. "Occasionally we like to go into town and visit a cantina, or eat marquesitas on the beach. Sometimes young people come back with us. They generally leave their clothing behind."

"Oh." He pauses. "That explains the orgy stories."

"Yeah. I guess you can't just blow into town, have a wild orgy at the cantina, and then make off with the staff and expect no one to talk."

"I guess not." He smiles a crooked smile.

By this time we're back at the other end of the beach and it's time for lunch. I tickle him on his bottom, stroke his ribs, and go up on my toes to kiss him appreciatively. Something else down below rises appreciatively. I give it a little tickle too.

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* * *

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"There's something I've been wondering for a long time," says Hans, "but I wasn't sure how to ask. I'm not even sure it's my place to ask, or if you would want to talk about it anyway."

It's afternoon now; we're lying facing each other under our tree at the top of the cliff, having just awakened from a little nap. I smile, then stroke his hip and say, "I can't think of anything I wouldn't want to talk about."

He's still hesitant, I see. It must be something really difficult.

Finally, he blurts out, "With all the 'exercise' we get here every day, how is it there are no children?"

I stop to think about this.

Hans, of all the men here, is the one who seems the least comfortable. He of course joins enthusiastically in the men's work and our daily "recreation", but there's always a shadow behind his eyes, an unease. I wonder if maybe he's afraid there's some terrible hidden catch to all of this.

It's true we're a strange lot, and that we live in a very unusual way. We never wear any clothing unless the weather is really foul, and yet somehow we manage to avoid jealousy even as we make love to whomever, wherever, whenever, on the slightest excuse. The men work together to keep us safe and fed; we sisters, we goddesses, offer our admiration freely to them and receive their worship in return.

Finally I say, "There was some concern in the past, but since we got the big stew-pot, everything's fine now."

He looks at me, confused. I see him thinking hard, trying to figure out what I'm saying. Then I watch a slow, dawning realization come over him. His eyes widen with a look something like horror.

But I can't stand it anymore; I can't keep a straight face. I start to smile, then I stifle a laugh. Then I break down completely.

He's really perplexed, then the penny drops.

"You... You! You little MINX!"

He jumps at me and pokes me in the ribs. He tickles me in the belly, under my chin, under my arms, on the soles of my feet. I'm laughing so hard; I'm gasping. I can't stand it!

"Stop! Stop! Please, stop!"

"No -- not until you PAY!"

I'm squirming to get away, but he holds me down, tickling, tickling. I'm laughing so hard I'm losing control; I feel my sphincter let go and I wet myself. I spray him too.

He stops with a satisfied look on his face.

"That was cruel," he says.

I'm still gasping, but I say, "I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist. I don't get a straight line like that every day."

He starts tickling me again.

"Please! I apologize! It was cruel; it was mean; and I'm sorry," I say, but not without a little smile.

"OK," he says.

A long pause, then he says, "I guess I'm always a little worried this whole thing isn't real. I'm afraid there's some awful secret I haven't discovered, or that I'm going to wake up and find it was all just a dream."

My breathing is nearly back to normal. "It's not perfect, Hans, but it's no dream," I say quietly.

He looks at me for a while without expression, then leans down and starts cleaning me with his tongue.

"You don't have to do that," I say.

"I know," he says, and continues.

I lie back. He works quietly for a while, licking me; I stroke his hair.

He lifts his head. "So if you're done teasing me..."

Well now I really do have to answer, but it's not an easy question.

"Maybe it's the hard life we lead here: the daily heavy exercise, the periodic short rations. That sort of thing has been known to affect ovulation. I do know that I haven't bled since I joined my sisters here."

I pause. "But this life seems too precarious for children anyway; maybe there's something more, something we sisters have somehow learned to do. I really don't know."

He looks at me silently, then he moves his tongue to that special place between my legs. I tousle his hair. I gasp, then moan.

What a strange and wonderful life this is.

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* * *

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"That story about your friend the baker brought back memories," I say.

"How so?" says Hans.

I'm working with Hans, cleaning fish and laying them out on racks to dry. Diego and Hans brought back a huge load of bonefish today, more than we can eat, so we need to preserve them. They're not easy to catch, but Diego was a fisherman before he joined us, and he's been teaching Hans.

I reply, "You mentioned your friend was always very respectful of the waitresses, which made me remember how rare that was when I worked in one of those beach-side cantinas.

"As a waitress, you want to make the customers comfortable and happy. It's good for your tips, of course, but it's also your job, and you want to do it well.

"But just because I smile and ask about your day doesn't make me your girlfriend, and certainly doesn't mean I want to be groped. And I absolutely don't need you following me home. But all that seems to come with the territory; it seems to be accepted, even expected, especially late in the evening when the cerveza has been flowing freely."

I pause, remembering. "And that's just the way it was, until the day it all changed.

"Late one evening, we were getting ready to close; the owner was filling in for one of the waitresses who had quit earlier in the day. He had been serving a table out in the sand, where a single woman sat quietly, facing the sea.

"I saw him standing by the table and talking with her for a while, then he sat down across from her. They talked for a long time, as the last of the other customers left and I closed up.

"When I finished cleaning up, I went over to ask if there was anything I could bring them before I went home.

"The woman looked at me; I hadn't seen her face until then, since she had been facing out to sea. As her eyes met mine, I was struck speechless. She was stunningly beautiful, and had the most amazing presence -- a confidence and grace you seldom see: a calm, quiet, power that's hard to describe.

"'No. Gracias, Señorita,' she said to me with a quiet smile. 'It's very late; please accept our thanks.'

"The owner looked up at me then. I should mention that he'd seemed very tired and careworn for a long time. Not surprising -- running a cantina involves long hours and managing sometimes very unruly customers, but in a small town they're customers you can't afford to antagonize.

"Sitting there at the table, though, he seemed somehow much more relaxed -- lighter, calmer.

"He said, 'The señora here has had some experience running a cantina; she's suggested that I try stepping back a bit and spend less time working. She'll take over the evening shift for me, starting tomorrow.'

"I nodded, and as I turned to go I looked a little closer at the woman: calm clear eyes, long dark hair, beautiful dark skin, and she was wearing... well, nothing. Her personal presence was so strong that you had to look a second time just to see that. A remarkable woman indeed.

"When I arrived the next day for my shift, Señora was already there. She was barefoot, and she looked very elegant in a white sarong-like wrap gathered above her breasts. Then it struck me -- her wrap was one of the tablecloths that we used for special occasions. Amazing. Who was this woman who was clearly a very serious and substantial person, but apparently owned no clothing?"

"She was one of the sisters," says Hans.

"Yes of course, but I didn't know that then."

"And you didn't even know what that might mean."

"No; that came with time."

We're done cleaning and laying out the fish now, and Hans collects the offal in a bucket to use as crab bait tomorrow. I've been rinsing off the fish as we went along, so I'm filthy, as is Hans. We head toward the beach to clean up properly.

We splash out to deeper water and bob in the swell, washing each other. His hands feel wonderful on my skin. As he washes me, I feel my nipples stiffen and he sees this, smiles, and toys with them a little. I tip my head back and kiss him softly.

"So go on, My Lady," he says. "Tell me more about that sister."

I continue. "As I said, everything changed when Señora took over. Our cantina had always been a pretty rough place in the evenings. A lot of hands on the waitresses, and fights would break out once or twice a week too. Sometimes the fight would be over a waitress, which was especially scary for us.

"But when Señora took over the evening shift, things became calmer. It was still plenty loud, with lots of laughing and joking and the sort of insults and dick-measuring that men do, but the tone changed. The joking was in good fun now, and it was taken that way. The hard edge went off.

"You couldn't say exactly what she had done -- she seldom spoke, and I never once heard her raise her voice. It was just that presence she had."

"I think I know what you mean," says Hans. "I've seen it in military men. It's not menace exactly, but they just make it clear where the boundaries are; what behavior is acceptable. And it's done mostly without words."

"Yes," I say, and then memory floods back. "One evening some workers from out of town came to the cantina. It got late; they got quite drunk, then something was said and suddenly the table went over with a crash and they were circling each other, hunched over with knives out.

"In the past, a fight like that would drag in the whole cantina, with everyone shouting and pushing and shoving to see the show.

"This time, though, our cantina just became quiet. Quiet, but calm -- not tense at all; the men just turned and watched from their seats. Señora was polishing glasses at the bar; she stopped and looked at the men.

She didn't actually say anything at first; she just looked at them. She watched them intently, but calmly.

"The two men hesitated, perhaps sensing something. Then Señora said, in a calm clear voice, not loud, but very clear: 'Gentlemen.' They both looked at her, frozen in their places.

"'Gentlemen, this is not that sort of bar. In fact, it's not that sort of town, either. Please take your disagreement elsewhere.'

"It was like the air just went out of them -- they just deflated visibly. A fight like that is meant to prove something, but they suddenly realized all they had proven was that they were not men, but just childish boys scrapping in the schoolyard."

"She brought everything into focus, didn't she?" Hans says.

"Yes. All the local men unconsciously craved her respect. So did those strangers; they just didn't realize it until they'd gone over the line and lost it."

We're cleaned up now; we splash out of the water and stand on the hard sand, drying in the sun and wind. Hans strips the water off his arms, chest, and legs with his hands. I do the same. He steps behind me and squeezes the water from my hair, running his fingers through it. I tip my head back and enjoy the attention. He rests his hands lightly on my hips.

I turn to him and go on, "Señora continued to wear just a wrap of one kind or another, very loose -- very simple, and for her very sexy really -- but not one man ever touched her. I think somehow it just never occurred to them.

"And the respect she received eventually extended to us as well. The men started to be more courteous; even respectful. Feeling more safe, we became warmer in return."

"Did the respect rub off on you, or was it her presence and bearing that rubbed off?" asks Hans.

"I suppose just being around her, I started to learn her quiet confidence," I say.

"As time went on, I found myself emulating her. Like most women, I'd always worn a bra. But I could see that even with her large breasts, she never did, and I started to ask myself why I should either. I mean, look at me: a bra is pretty pointless on me anyway."

Hans smirks. "Hardly pointless -- in fact, you have two very lovely points right out front here." He tickles a nipple; I smack his hand with a smile. He makes a hurt face, then breaks into a grin.

"I also let my hair grow out like hers, and started wearing it loose like she did. In time, I started experimenting with wraps like the ones she wore, and found I really liked them, once I knew the customers would keep their hands to themselves. It's a very free and sexy feeling to be bare under a thin wrap."

We're dry now; we walk over to tidy up the fish racks and carry them over to the fire to smoke.

"Did she have a lover?" asks Hans.

"I don't know; she was a very private person." I pause. "I don't even know where she lived. When we were all finished in the evening, she would hand me the keys and just walk off into the night."

I pause, lost in my memories. "But she seemed close with the cook she hired a little while after she joined us. I think maybe she knew him from somewhere before."

The sun has dipped behind the bluff above; it's time to think about supper, then sleep. But there's one more part of the story still to tell.

"One evening we were cleaning up after closing. Señora had taken off her wrap, as she often did when the customers were gone -- I think she just liked the freedom; enjoyed the evening air on her skin. We were used to this by then, and didn't think much of it. Besides, even with no clothes on she somehow didn't seem naked, at least not in the way you usually think of it.

"I was sitting at the bar folding napkins and making setups for the morning. She came up behind me, put her hands on my shoulders and started to knead them. Her touch felt very warm, very relaxing.

"After a while, she said, 'Do you have a boyfriend, Señorita?'

"'No, Señora,' I said. 'I've had one or two, but not now.'

"'Not worth the trouble?'

"'Something like that, yes.'

"She removed the clasp from my hair and started laying my hair out on my shoulders, running her fingers through it, lost in thought, I guess, like I was. Then she said, 'There's a party at the last table by the sea. Have a walk over and see what we can serve them. The kitchen is closed, but we can maybe give them something from the bar.'

"She paused. 'And if they invite you to sit with them, go ahead. I'll finish up here.'

"I think you can guess what I found at that table: there were two women and four men. The women very much reminded me of Señora, and after I served them they did invite me to sit.

"I left my clothes on the sand later that night."

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* * *

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"Remembering or anticipating?" I ask Hans with the hint of a smile.